


Kinktober 2020

by howdoyousleep



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Defending Jacob (TV 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Real Person Fiction, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Boss/Employee Relationship, Boys In Love, Car Sex, Comeplay, Competence Kink, Competency, Couch Sex, Crying, Daddy Bucky, Daddy James - Freeform, Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking & Talking, Dry Humping, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Feminization, Fluff, Grinding, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kinktober 2020, Kitchen Sex, Knife Kink, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Omega Bucky Barnes, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Punishment, Puppy Play, RPF, Reader-Insert, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Spit Kink, Subspace, daddy Steve Rogers, jbbkinktober, light subspace, spitting, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howdoyousleep/pseuds/howdoyousleep
Summary: I joined at the last second. Here are my entries!Handjob (Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky)Eating Out (Senator Rogers and Intern Bucky)Thigh Riding (Daddy James and Stevie)Spanking/Choking (Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky)Daddy Kink (Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky)Knife Kink (Daddy James and Stevie)Fingering (Alpha Steve and Omega Bucky)In the Kitchen (Mr. Barber and Male Reader)Phone Sex (Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan)
Relationships: Andy Barber/Male Reader, Andy Barber/You, Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 70
Kudos: 348





	1. Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky: Handjob

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't realize this was a thing until the day before! I didn't do something every day but here are the ones I did do. I'm going to have them be chapters and I'll update tags accordingly, but take note of the title of each chapter for pairing and kink. 
> 
> My love for you is endless! 💖

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Daddy Kink, Handjob, Punishment, Orgasm Denial, Comeplay

”Tighter, Buck— _tighter._ You know how Daddy likes it, show me, come on.”

Bucky whimpers, the thought of not being the absolute best for his Daddy making him irrationally upset. He tightens his grip on Steve’s cock by the barest of increments, right until he hears that heavy exhale, feels it against the bridge of his nose, his temple.

“That’s it, sugar—that’s perfect. Keep it up, there you go.”

Bucky whimpers again. This one has a different tune to it, is more on the delighted side of desperate instead of the distressed side. He likes the praise. He likes the praise, but he doesn’t like this consequence he’s found himself on the receiving end of. He hates punishments, doesn’t get them often but detests them nonetheless. They leave him achy and grumpy, make him think about the choice of his actions. Bucky doesn’t like that.

He likes the way Daddy’s cock looks and feels in his hand though.

 _“Daddy…”_ he tries again, presses the plea right into the sharp underside of Steve’s jaw. It just makes Daddy groan low in the back of his throat, makes him spread his legs and meet Bucky’s fist for a few sloppy thrusts. The arm around Bucky’s back pulls him in so tight that it slips up to curl around the nape of his neck, tucks him into Daddy’s side without resistance. The line of Bucky’s body feels so goddamn _good_ pressed against Daddy’s side, soft and slim against large and firm. Bucky feels like he melts into Steve.

“Makin’ Daddy feel so good, baby. Reach down there and tug on Daddy’s balls a bit, play with ‘em,” Steve guides with an edge of franticness and Bucky is quick to obey, mouth watering as his palm is filled the familiar feel of Daddy’s heavy sac. Bucky’s torso clenches at the feel of the sheer masculinity of the older man. He whines as his mind takes over and guides, rolls and pulls at Daddy’s balls with practiced ease.

Daddy curses, says Bucky’s name like it’s the best thing that’s ever come out of his mouth.

 _“Fuck_ , that’s good, yeah. Come on now—get Daddy there.”

Bucky doesn’t want to. Of course he _does,_ but he wants Daddy in his mouth, in his pussy. His cheeks burn scarlet when the thought of Daddy’s come going to waste crosses his mind. _Slut_.

 _“Daddy,_ Daddy I want—”

The arm around his neck goes suddenly tight, Daddy’s voice pitching dangerously low.

“You don’t get to _want_ , Bucky. Not when you’re a brat. You should’a thought about that.”

Bucky mewls, such a sad noise, but it’s also a heated one. He loves it when Daddy is mean, when there is a bite to his words, his actions. He hates how much this side of Daddy makes his toes curl.

“Your little noises just make me harder; you wanna make ‘em you keep goin’, baby,” Daddy mumbles into Bucky’s cheek, his own hand coming down to wrap right around Bucky’s own at the same time he presses the line of his teeth along Bucky’s high cheekbone. Bucky goes cross-eyed, goes dizzy seeing him fist-fucking Daddy’s cock while Daddy himself helps Bucky out.

“But…but I want it in my mouth,” Bucky whispers mournfully as he watches the head of Steve’s dick disappear and reappear between his circled fist. He can’t even close his fist around Daddy fully, fingers unable to touch or stretch to accommodate for the older man’s girth. He longs for his mouth to be full, to be stretched. How dare Daddy deprive him of the thing he’s been wanting most all day, all the time. He aches for that twinge in his jaw, for the slick noise of his mouth being used. He wants to gag.

Daddy moans, hot as he drops his hand back down to the bed, hips pulsing up once, _twice_. Bucky throws a leg over Steve’s own to feel any kind of control.

“Oh, baby I know, I know. Daddy wants that too, wants to be usin’ that pretty mouth for what it’s for—” Bucky almost hiccups, “—but you gotta learn your lesson. You don’t get Daddy’s cock tonight.” Bucky shakes his head in disagreement, in a pout of a movement, nuzzles his unhappy noises right into the crook of Daddy’s neck. His fist still moves with purpose, the slick noises of his hand on Daddy’s cock, slathered in lube, lewd and obscene.

He could do it, could scramble and bend and suck Daddy right down to the root, _but_ …but Bucky isn’t a bad boy. He wants to be good. He’s already been a bad boy; this is why they are in the situation they are in.

Bucky huffs, twists his wrist a bit on the upstroke, does what Daddy needs but whimpers as he does so. He tucks his chin, looks down the line of Steve’s body, almost sniffling when he takes sight of his own erection sitting heavy on Steve’s hip. Ignored. Weepy. _Achy._ He quickly chooses to divert his eyes to the main show, back to his own fist, to Daddy’s body.

Daddy is art, is otherworldly, is beautiful. He is a man, is broad and thick and tight all over, narrow waist, sturdy thighs. Impressive lines of muscle, an impeccable amount of body hair that makes Bucky want to get on his knees and _crawl_ towards. There isn’t a part of Steve’s body that Bucky wouldn’t rub his face into and inhale immediately. Daddy is perfect.

“Oh fuck, baby that’s perfect, y’so perfect, Buck. You’re gonna make your Daddy come,” Daddy groans, breath hitching. Even during a punishment Steve is quick to reassure Bucky about how much he’s cared for, how much he is loved. It tosses Bucky’s heart into his throat, makes him whine as a result. He wants Daddy to come, wants it so badly. He wants to be the reason Daddy comes, but he’s so regretful for his actions, for his choices.

He works his hand double-time over Daddy’s cock, pushes down onto the base, slides and squeezes up, a dance his hand has done countless times.

“Wan’you to come,” Bucky hears himself mumble, mouth betraying him yet again. He purses his lips into Daddy’s neck and feels the groan let out beneath his mouth.

“Watch then, Buck— _watch Daddy come_. You look at what you’re missin’ out on for bein’ so bad,” Steve bites out, hand of the arm around Bucky’s neck reaching for his chin, grasping at it and yanking it down. It is a move that is not necessary but is gutting, is so upsettingly arousing that Bucky can’t help but let out a set of whimpers, pitiful and feminine-like. Bucky would have looked anyway, and gladly, but the fact that Daddy is making him watch knocks the air right out his chest.

“You watchin’? You see? _Shit…”_

 _“Mhmm_ yeah…yeah, Daddy I see, _I see_.”

Steve always holds his breath right before he feels that first roll of pleasure down his spine, holds it there in his throat with a tiny aborted noise. He does so now. The first spurt of come hits Daddy right below his pecs, Bucky’s aim impeccable. Right after that first splash of release is when Steve lets out a gut-curling groan, grip still tight on Bucky’s chin, lips on his temple. Bucky lets out his own noise of sympathy, the two of them together a harmony of intimacy.

Bucky’s hand is wet and slick, sounds absolutely filthy fucking itself over Daddy’s cock, lube and come mixing together in a way that makes Bucky’s whine grow into something embarrassing. With the hand on his chin he has no choice but to watch _everything_ : the way Daddy’s torso clenches, the way his fat dick twitches in Bucky’s hand, the way Daddy’s come messes his tummy up, gets matted in his hair.

 _“God,_ Bucky—fuck. Oh god, sugar that’s it. Get it all, get it all. Milk it.”

_“Daddy…!”_

Steve also holds his breath the moment he comes down from his orgasm. He exhales heavily, _holds it,_ lets one last shiver run from head to toe, and then he lets out a low groan that resembles a purr. Daddy always purrs after an orgasm, a happy Daddy. Bucky is so pleased that Daddy is happy but Bucky is _hurting_ , wants to join Steve in his pleasure. He finds himself rolling his hips into Steve’s side, any friction a blessing, but it is short-lived.

 _“Buck…_ Buck you quit, baby. You know better. Yeah?” Daddy rumbles, lets his hand fall from Bucky’s chin. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of his sticky hand, Daddy’s tummy, his chest. He wants to lick Daddy clean, wants to have Daddy watch him slurp his dirty fingers down. He wants to be good.

“You’re alright, Buck. You’ll be better next time, right?”

Bucky chokes down his whine, feels himself practically vibrate against the line of Steve’s body.

“Yes, Daddy…”

The lips on his temple purse a few times in rapid succession.

“Know you will, sugar. S’my boy. Y’wanna go start the shower? Clean off with me?”

No. Bucky wants to get fucked into tomorrow, wants Daddy to roll him onto his front and eat his little hole out, wants to work to get Daddy hard again just so he can take Daddy’s come in his mouth, in his ass, on his face, on his skin. But he’s good, he needs to be good. He scoots back some, separates himself from Steve, makes his move towards the bathroom.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He’s three steps away from the bed and looking at his dirty hand with transparency when Bucky hears Steve clear his throat.

“You keep that hand away from your mouth, boy. Don’t get sneaky on me, Buck.”

If Bucky stomps his foot on his way to the bathroom he cannot be blamed.


	2. Senator Steve Rogers and Intern Bucky Barnes: Eating Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this story include: Daddy Kink, Rimming, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Desk Sex, Light Dom/Sub, Spitting

Bucky loves Senator Rogers’ desk.

It powerful, takes up space, has a presence in this office just like the man who sits behind it. It’s a dark cherry oak, is the largest desk Bucky has seen in anyone’s office, in person or otherwise.

Bucky can lay across it perfectly, hips slotting up to the edge with ease, able to stretch atop it and melt into it. This desk has seen Bucky in compromising positions others couldn’t dream of. Bucky finds himself in such a position now, one he is well-acquainted with, one that he daydreams about in seemingly arduous meetings. But now is not one of those meetings.

“Look at _that_ ,” the Senator purrs, a meaty palm cracking down onto the flesh of Bucky’s ass. “Fuckin’ beautiful. How’d you get blessed with such a fat ass for such a sweet little thing, huh?” Teeth dig into the thick part of Bucky’s cheek currently not throbbing and he whines instead of using his words. Words are hard when two large hands grip and dig into your ass, finger flexing into flesh possessively. The Senator moves without patience to yank the waistband of Bucky’s pants down to about his knees and all Bucky can do is whimper even more, turn his cheek into the wood beneath it.

Bucky is _hard,_ always is when he is around Steve, unable to cease his body’s physical pull towards the other man, his reactions. Bucky sits in meetings, the back-right chair, legs crossed and hard as he watches the Senator talk passionately about a plethora of different things. He stands in crowds, often off to the side, has to stick his hand in his pocket and make minor adjustments from time to time because chubbing up is apparently what his body wants to do when he watches the older man speak in front of hundreds.

Bucky is achy between his legs, heavy and hot, and his whimper turns into a mewl when one of those mitts for hands presses between his thighs and grabs onto his balls, tugs and rolls.

“Just a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

That _is_ a question Bucky can answer. He stupidly nods his head on the desk before mumbling, _“Mhmm,”_ in response. He might be drooling already. _How embarrassing_.

“Words, Barnes—don’t go dumb on me now. It’s too early for that, baby,” Steve chides, pressing his palm up and into Bucky’s sac, fingers swirling around as he lowers his hand, a move that has Bucky’s lip curling.

“Yes…!” he spits out, tipping his ass, arching his back. “M’a pretty little thing.” It isn’t good enough.

“Yeah? Say it, say, _‘I’m a pretty little thing for you, Daddy’,_ ” and damn Senator Rogers for being so mean and persistent. Bucky’s fingers dig into the wood of the desk, hands level with his shoulders. He clenches his teeth before responding.

“I’m a pretty little thing for you, Daddy,” Bucky bites out, and Steve chuckles, gives Bucky’s ass one more solid smack from the top down. Bucky moans at the way his cheek feels jiggling at the hand of such a man. Bucky loves it, craves it. He feels like he has a current of electricity running up and back down his spine, fingers trembling, vibrating from the inside out. Steve always makes him feel this way. Bucky is worried he’s going to become addicted to this touch.

There are worse things that Bucky could come to rely on.

Bucky hears the Senator’s chair squeak, hears it roll across the plastic mat on the floor beneath them, and he reacts like a dog to a bone. _Shameful._ The grin that spreads across his face is lazy and syrupy. The way he arches his back even more, anticipating that familiar _snap_ of that bottle cap, should be embarrassing. It isn’t though, isn’t because Mr. Rogers lets out a noise that has the grin on Bucky’s face spreading, a giggle bubbling up and out of his throat.

“Got a well-trained pussy don’t you, boy?”

_“Oh…oh fuck.”_

A _pussy._ No. Bucky doesn’t have one of those. The Senator has never said that to Bucky before, has never referred to his ass as a…as a pussy before. But isn’t that what it is to Daddy? He gets it wet and it’s tight and Daddy fucks it and fills it up.

Bucky thinks _no_ but his core _burns_ with arousal and so much _yes_ , dick throbbing, breath getting caught in his throat. Steve doesn’t push it, doesn’t make Bucky say anything in response ( _as if he could say anything anyway_ ), but Bucky almost wants him to. He wants to hear the Senator say _that_ again, wants to wallow around in this part of his brain more.

Hands are back on his ass, spreading him wide, and Bucky’s face turns into one bright flame at the thought of the Senator’s view. He whimpers. He has an idea of how the next half-hour is going to transpire, not enough time to fuck but enough time to get each other off somehow. Bucky expects fingers, cool and thick, to prod at his hole, to fill him up a bit on his lunch break. He expects to be told he has to wait to come, that Steve will draw this out as long as he can, words hot on his neck as he comes on Bucky’s ass, gets himself off before finger-fucking Bucky to his own climax.

All of that is hurled right out the window when he feels the Senator’s bearded chin dip between his cheeks.

“Oh… _oh god._ Fuck, what…! _Oh!”_

Words are hard, _so hard,_ when Senator Rogers’ tongue swipes and prods at your asshole as you’re bent over the front of his desk.

Bucky thrashes. There’s no other word for it aside from what it genuinely is—it’s a damn near violent reaction. He sputters and whines, scrambles as his mind tries to rapidly process what he is feeling and what is happening. No one has ever put their mouth on Bucky in such a way. This is only something Bucky has ever seen in the porn he gets off to late at night. Steve grips his hips, pushes him further into the desk, holds him there, _makes him take it._

Bucky knows what to say if he doesn’t want this. They have practiced using his words. He has used them in the past. Bucky is overwhelmed and achingly hard, but he _wants,_ wants like he’s never wanted before.

_“Yes,_ ” he hears himself slur, a keen of sorts, fights a bit more just to feel the Senator use more force on him. Steve groans, a chuckle of an open-mouthed rumble, and Bucky can’t describe the noise he makes as anything other than a squeal. The flat of Steve’s tongue slips and slides over Bucky’s asshole without restraint, with eagerness and enthusiasm.

It feels phenomenal. It feels dirty. It’s wet and erotic and filthy and Bucky _loves_ it.

“What—what are you…?” Bucky finds himself asking, another stupid move. His brain feels mushy.

“Buck…” the Senator purrs as he pulls his mouth away from Bucky’s body. “What does it feel like I’m doin’, sugar?”

Bucky can’t answer, doesn’t know if he should be answering. How can he when Steve’s mouth sounds like _that_ as he eats Bucky out? When he makes out with Bucky’s asshole like he’s working over Bucky’s mouth? He can feel Steve’s lips, can feel the plumpness of them and the wetness of the pair as they work in time with the older man’s tongue. Steve slurps, circles his lips right around Bucky’s rim and _sucks._

_“Steve…!”_

Bucky gets a line of open-mouthed kisses down and over his hole, down his balls, sloppy and toe-curling.

_“Bucky!”_ Steve mocks with another one of those chuckles, voice high-pitched and whiny. Bucky barely makes the connection that he is in fact mocking Bucky, poking fun at his for how hysterical he sounds. He feels the blush creep to the back of his neck, burns there at the nape of it. _So good._

“Told you one day I’d get my mouth on this pretty pink, honey.” Steve’s tongue flicks and flutters across Bucky’s asshole, lewd and _delicious._ Bucky sputters on air.

“But…! _Today?!_ Right now?”

The Senator makes Bucky go absolutely dumb sometimes. There is a hand between his legs again, pushy and demanding. Bucky’s eyes roll a bit back into his skull, a reaction he has no control over, when he feels fingers wrap tight around the base of his dick. Steve gives it a tug and adjusts Bucky’s body to accommodate for the movement. Bucky whines.

“Right now,” is all the Senator confirms before diving back it, humming as he does so. Bucky feels so sensitive, wonders if the older man’s mouth really is on his _pussy_. He’s almost thankful Steve chose to do it this way, to surprise Bucky with is and to put him on his front. He’s sure that he would come in under thirty seconds if he were _watching_ Steve eat him out.

“Daddy, it’s… _oh_ it’s—”

“S’good isn’t it, baby? Daddy’s mouth feels good on that boy pussy?”

It does. It’s good but then it’s great, Steve’s tongue going from more relaxed to pointed as he fucks it in and out of Bucky. Steve’s mouth doesn’t move off of him, one part making him unravel at the seams on its own or working in tandem with one another to break Bucky down. He feels spit slip down his balls and Bucky wants to cry. He spreads his legs and presses up onto his tippy toes instead. The grip on his dick tightens almost painfully before sliding to the tip slowly, back down again.

Steve jacks Bucky off leisurely as his lips and tongue work wonders on his ass. It’s overwhelming, the press and pull of a hand on his dick at the same time Steve’s tongue flutters and flicks across his rim. His cheek digs into the desk beneath him as he lolls his head to the side and back again. He has nothing to hold onto, to grab at, and he finds his arms reaching up to grab at the edge of the desk with shaky hands. He wants to put his fingers in Steve’s hair, wants to press his face further between Bucky’s cheeks.

Bucky’s brain is noisy, body yelling at him, mind scrambling. Even through the chaos he feels himself about to come, much to his mortification. He knows the rules, knows what he has to do, but his orgasm is approaching at such a rapid pace that he starts to scramble again, starts to try and pull away.

“I’m—! Daddy I’m…!”

Steve growls, presses nasty kisses right across Bucky’s hole as he yanks his hand away with particular care.

_“God,_ what a slut,” Steve bites out, thumbs digging into Bucky’s ass and spreading him wide. He’s impatient now too, pushy as he grabs for Bucky’s arms, his hands. “Hold yourself open, do it.”

Bucky’s chest is heaving at this point, panting like he’s on the treadmill and a mile into his normal three for the morning. His blunt fingernails dig into the skin of his ass cheeks as he pulls the apart and open wide, making Bucky hiss. He feels exposed, open, fucked out. He wants that mouth back, wants to keep Daddy’s tongue there for _hours_. There’s a bite to the air that washes over his damp hole, chilly and sensitive, but Bucky feels like molten lava overall.

“Look at _that._ That pretty pussy looks like it’s been cryin’. S’it hungry, Buck? Is it sad?”

The Senator’s hands run up and down, cup Bucky’s cheeks even though Bucky’s hands are already present there. He gets a pinch for a late reply.

“Yes! Yeah, it’s…it’s hungry, Daddy.”

“Get specific, sugar. What’s it hungry for? Just anything?”

Steve’s voice feels like velvet against Bucky’s ears, feels like sin, deep dark sin. He turns his cheek and presses his forehead against the top of the desk, mumbles another dumb, _“S’hungry,”_ into the space between his lips and oak. His gut clenches.

Bucky hears it before he processes, hears the undeniable noise of spit rocketing out between someone’s teeth, someone’s lips.

The Senator spits on him, spits right onto his asshole like he fucking _owns_ it.

“Yeah? For that? That what it’s hungry for? Or is it hungry for somethin’ to fuck it full? You better speak up.”

Bucky just opens his mouth, opens it and lets whatever can come out. It’s a wail, a hiccup or two, his fingers almost slipping where they rest pulling his cheeks apart. He almost wants to push instead of pull, almost wants to press the globes of his ass together and spread the older man’s spit around his already slick asshole. _Filthy._

“Cock,” is all Bucky can get out, hysterical and loud. “Daddy’s cock! Want… _fuck,_ wanna…” Bucky tries again but then there are two fingertips, what feels like a palm, cracking down over his hole directly. Bucky sees stars. He thinks he squeals.

_“Fuck…!_ Fuck, want… _Daddy_ fuck it full, please! Wan’it…”

The kiss that Bucky gets right over his puffy hole is one accompanied with another throaty groan.

“S’that what you really want, Buck? You really want my cock fillin’ you up? Or do you want somethin’ else today?”

Bucky doesn’t even pause to think, doesn’t need to; he knows what he wants right now. He’ll always wants Steve’s cock but today—

“Want…wan’your mouth, Daddy.”

Bucky couldn’t lift his cheek to talk clearly if he tried. It’s a mess of words, _he’s a mess,_ and they tumble out of his mouth with an edge of franticness. Steve chuckles, this time knowingly instead of meanly, like he’s won a prize, a full-on _told you so_ moment. Bucky doesn’t care how wrong he may or may not have been; he’s the one that feels like the victor here.

_“Yeah you do_ , knew you’d love that. You gonna ask me nicely like a good boy and not a brat?”

Bucky might melt right through this desk and onto the floor. He makes his word pack a punch, makes them worth it considering they’ll be the last coherent ones he says for however long after this. A few seconds pass, the noise in Bucky’s brain ceasing momentarily thanks to all the strength and focus Bucky can pull together.

“Daddy…? Eat my little boy pussy out, please?”

A moan, a bite on the ass, and a deep, _“With pleasure, baby…”_ leave Bucky cross-eyed and breathless.

Now Bucky has a whole new reason to be fond of Senator Rogers’ desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


	3. Daddy James and Stevie Baby: Thigh Riding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Puppy Play, Daddy Kink, Thigh Riding, Light Bondage, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Light Subspace, Light Dom/Sub

Steve has no idea what time it is. He thinks it might be nearing eleven in the evening, but it could also be three in the morning. He’s been down here for what feels like hours. He’s been hard between his own legs for what feels like even longer.

Daddy’s fingers feel like heaven in his hair, thick and capable of dangerous things but sweet when he’s touching on Steve. They rub and slip along Steve’s scalp, feel like velvet against any part of Steve’s sensitive form, his body so quick to respond to James’ touch. The thought of having any kind of unique and special touch reserved for only him makes Steve whine throatily behind the fabric in his mouth.

_“Babydoll_ , _”_ Daddy coos, hands stilling in Steve’s hair and moving to grip the nape of his neck in warning instead. “You need a reminder? You need to be told puppies can’t use their words? Or are you my good boy and know not to without me needing to say anything?”

Steve hadn’t realized the noise he was making was one that was forming into words, betraying him and taking advantage of his woozy mind. It’s not like he would be able to get any words out anyway; the tie between his teeth, between his lips, is preventing that from happening.

Steve whimpers, shakes his head vehemently against Daddy’s thigh, presses his cheek right there above his knee as he looks up to stupidly try and meet Daddy’s eyes. If he could touch, he _would._ He wants to touch so badly, wants to grab at Daddy’s thighs, wants to reach up and tug at that dimpled chin. He wants to stretch and grab for the fly of Daddy’s pants, wants to touch James _there_ too, wants to open his mouth wide and—

“S’my good puppy. So good, aren’t you, baby? Look so cute droolin’ all over yourself like this.”

Steve’s entire core clenches up tight and involuntarily, releasing slowly and accompanied with a drawn-out moan that _shakes_ Steve’s being. That praise is almost as good as Daddy telling him he looks like a dream with his hands tied together behind his back because, _“puppies don’t have hands, sweetheart. You already goin’ dumb on me?”_

Steve is passed the point of dumb; he’s downright stupid for his Daddy.

When fingers slide up his jaw, his cheekbone, and then behind his ear, _rubbing there,_ Steve whimpers more, slurps some as if that will stop the spit from pooling on his tongue and down his chin. The noise of the television has long been tuned out, Steve’s ears focusing more on Daddy’s every noise. The _clink_ of the ice accompanied with tequila in the older man’s glass, his deep breaths, his hums in reaction or acknowledgement from time to time. He even took a phone call a while back, kept his fingers lazily filtering through Steve’s hair as he spoke in another language.

The fabric beneath Steve’s cheek is soft overall but a little stiff, the slacks being a pair of Daddy’s work pants. It’s enough to make Steve’s eyelids heavy but to keep him cognizant and aware of what is happening around him, even if it is syrupy slow. Not only does he like the feeling of Daddy’s pants beneath the sensitive skin of his cheek, he also likes the way it feels between his legs.

“You’re gonna make Daddy’s pants all messy if you keep that up,” James murmurs casually, finger pinching at Steve’s earlobe. Steve makes a curious noise, a dumb one, when he realizes his body _is_ moving, hips pumping forward lazily into Daddy’s leg. He tucks his chin to look down the line of his naked body, down at his dick and sure enough, there it is, angry and weeping and red from both being rubbed damn near raw and from gaining no release in such a long period of time.

“I think you might want that though. Y’might wanna mark your territory, might wanna hump somethin’ silly…”

_Oh,_ but Steve does, he does. He wants all of that. Daddy doesn’t do anything but hum in amusement when Steve rolls his hips, grinds himself down onto James’ shin a bit harder, head slipping up to almost the crease of Daddy’s hip with such ferocity behind his movements. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried, not with his hands and arms tied neatly behind his back.

He’s at Daddy’s mercy.

The edge of franticness has Daddy chuckling, a mean noise that cuts right to Steve’s bones.

_“Babydoll,_ look at’chu,” Daddy coos, hand tapping tightly at Steve’s cheek a few times, other hand slipping down and stroking Steve’s spine. “Y’been so good for me, Steve, been so good for so long. Think you need to come. Y’wanna come, boy? Huh?”

The way Daddy asks Steve if he wants to come as if he were asking a dog if he wanted to go on a walk makes Steve’s teeth _ache,_ makes him hiccup and choke on a few breaths. He starts nodding his head but can’t stop the way he whimpers with each movement, desperate and senseless. Daddy is in control, always so well put-together and smooth, always unimpressed and relaxed. It’s heady and adds to this moment, this moment when James demands, “Alright, well— _up_. Get up here,” as he pats his thigh.

It’s a mess of movement, Steve attempting to stand but quickly realizing he doesn’t have his arms or hands to help him in any way. Daddy clicks his tongue when Steve falls forward, the sound of disappointment immediately making Steve shout behind his full mouth. The humiliation only continues when Steve is unable to maneuver himself correctly, when Daddy has to take over, pull Steve up and over James’ lap correctly.

“There ya go, just needed Daddy’s help is all.”

Steve moves to slot both of his thighs one either side of Daddy’s own when the older man makes a soft noise.

“No, baby— _like this._ ”

Like this? But…but Steve is only halfway on Daddy’s lap. His own thighs lie on either side of Daddy’s one, his body offset from James’ own. Daddy’s thighs are spread wide so that Steve’s own legs can rest comfortably on either side of his one thigh, but—

_Oh._

_“Ngh…!”_ is the only noise that Steve can produce at the realization of what Daddy is asking him to do.

“S’right, baby. Right here, come on. It’s everything a little dumb puppy like yourself could want—rub yourself off on your Daddy’s thigh.”

Steve falls forward. His moan forces his body to sway forward and there’s no way for him to reach out and stop himself. He finds his face pressed into the crook of Daddy’s neck, the line of his body tucked in tight against Daddy’s clothed side. Another set of coos and chuckles makes Steve’s cheeks burn, his neck burn, and an arm swoops down and around his back in encouragement and guidance.

“Come on, Stevie doll. Come on, baby—get a move on.”

Steve does. He doesn’t have a clue as to how to get off from rubbing oneself off on another’s thigh, but he _moves._ He’s been so hard and has needed for so long now that he just listens to his Daddy and starts to _move._ The arm curled around his back helps guides him, as do the sweet noises and lips at his ear and on the side of his face. His hips are sloppy at first and he whines at the feeling of Daddy’s slacks rough between his cheeks, the ways his balls feel pressed against such a fabric. He shifts from right to left, forward and backward, trying to find that blissful sweet spot and—

_“Mphh…ngh…!”_

There it is. Steve has to lean forward some, has to tip his ass back even more, but those thrusts forward are _nice_. They press his dick right into Daddy’s thigh and his stomach keeps him there, allows him that friction, that relief. Once he feels it and gets there, he can’t stop, presses forward and wants _more_ , almost becomes frantic with it. With each hump he gives Daddy’s leg he lets out a whimper, a moan, a choke.

“That’s it, honey, s’my boy. Y’been so good for me today, pretty, so sweet and patient. Just like to go a little dumb sometimes don’t you? Like to go a little silly? _Oh,_ bet that feels so nice on that little prick, doesn’t it? _Mhmm…”_

It’s the words that push Steve closer and closer to his orgasm, Daddy’s sweet praise and the tinge of humiliation. He does what he can to dig his hips down and into Daddy, that tight roll that presses and smashes his dick beautifully into Daddy’s thick thigh.

James doesn’t stop talking, not as Steve trashes and struggles, forgetting his hands are tied up behind his back. They’re sweet words, sweet praise laced with that puppy talk, that edge of humiliation. Steve sounds like he’s weeping behind his mouthful, wet little sobs with his heavy exhales. It’s Daddy’s words that push him there but it’s the imbalance of power that makes Steve squeal, makes his toes curl, makes his noises go a bit more desperate.

Daddy has clothes on, Daddy can use his words. Daddy’s hands are useful, push and squeeze at Steve just right. Daddy is purring into Steve’s ear, is asking Steve if he needs something else to help him come because puppy is struggling. _“God yes,”_ is what Steve wants to shout but can’t, comes out garbled and messy, but Daddy knows always knows.

A thick capable finger hooking into his asshole, tugging at his rim, gets him there. Daddy’s hand milking his dick not two seconds later sends him _sailing._

Steve forgets his wrists are bound once more as he attempts to tug them apart to grab for Daddy’s head, to tug him closer as he cries. The build over the evening has been _immense_ and Steve trembles where he grinds, humps. He wishes he could watch himself make Daddy messy, wishes he could watch Daddy’s hand on him getting every last drop. He’s so thankful for Daddy, is so thankful he has someone that knows exactly what he needs and is willing to learn and experiment with Steve as he learns himself.

Steve tries to tell Daddy he loves him, over and over again, but he’s _exhausted_ , is still coming. He pumps his hips forward a few more times, shivering and whimpering as he does so, and Daddy sighs contentedly against the side of Steve’s face.

“Oh, puppy I bet that felt so good. You’ve been waitin’ so long, look how messy you made us? Such a big mess.”

Steve can’t even open his eyes, can’t even tell if they _are_ open and they’re just cloudy with arousal. He feels Daddy’s lips on his temple, feels the squeeze on his ass. His breaths are ragged but deep and centering. He can hear himself mumbling behind the tie in his mouth, doesn’t even know his own words, and Daddy reaches for the knot behind Steve’s head.

“—love you, love you, Daddy, love you s’much, I—”

“Oh, baby love you more, love you more. You gonna come down here and clean your mess up before I take you to bed and make a mess’a my puppy?”

Steve is slipping down Daddy’s body, boneless and relaxed, before the words are fully out of the older man’s mouth. Puppy will do anything for Daddy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


	4. Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky: Spanking/Choking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Daddy Kink, Spanking, Sexy Toys, Overstimulation, Edging, Choking, Light Subspace, Crying, Dom/Sub Undertones, Dirty Talk, Feminization

_“I… I think I might want something a… a little rough?”_

Looking back, Bucky should have known immediately that Steve would deliver, would serve, would exceed every expectation Bucky ever had. His body feels like it vibrates where it lies lax across Daddy’s lap, cheek turned into the crisp sheet beneath it.

_“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”_

_“Umm, kinda… was thinking about… spanking?”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Yeah, yeah um… just have the urge to be… a little overwhelmed?”_

Looking back, Bucky should have known that Daddy would know exactly what to do to Bucky to accomplish just that, of keeping Bucky overwhelmed. He should have taken the set of questions Steve had asked him in follow-up as more of a warning than he did. He stretches his arms up and over his head, stretches out the line of his body and leans into the feeling and sensation of checking in on each of his limbs.

The stretch allows for the weight of the heavy plug nestled between his ass cheeks to make itself known, to make him moan and clench around it, to tilt his ass back into Daddy’s hand.

“More?”

Daddy’s voice is _deep,_ is like gravel, affected. It has Bucky’s moan continuing on, prolonged by the transparent want in Steve’s voice. The hand on Bucky’s ass _squeezes_ , another hand running up his spine to grip the back of Bucky’s neck tight. They’ve been at it for so long, minutes blurring together in pain and pleasure. Bucky doesn’t know if he wants more or less or _everything._

_“Yeah_ fuck yeah, more, want—”

_Smack. Smack smack._

The squeal Bucky wants to let out gets all sorts of caught in his throat. The blunt nails digging into the throbbing skin of his ass sends that squeal sailing, hurtling out of his mouth and into the mattress beneath him.

“Oh _fuck…!”_

Bucky can’t stay still, is completely unable to lay there and take it. He has to move, has to squirm across Daddy’s lap, all of his little noises caused by his breaths getting stuck up behind his tongue. When he arches his neck, tries to move away from the sensation of Daddy’s hands kneading at his ass, it causes him to naturally clench and pulse around the plug.

His noises of distress turn into ones of pleasure. He sputters on his moans, drags his hands back down beneath his shoulders, spreads his legs.

“Goddamn, sugar. You’re fuckin’ beautiful like this. You okay? You feel good?”

Daddy is hard beneath Bucky’s body. He can feel it, can feel his cock, right there under his tummy. Bucky wants to rub his cheek against Daddy’s cock, wants to suckle on that needy tip, wants that cock inside of his pussy instead of this plug. But this plug feels so _good,_ makes Bucky’s dick twitch and leak beneath him with every squeeze and hump he gives it.

“So good, Daddy,” Bucky slurs as he turns his cheek, moans, wanting Daddy to see the lazy grin on his face. “So fuckin’ good.”

Steve moans in kind, a happy heated noise, and the hand rubbing at his ass move between his cheeks. He grabs at the base of the plug, a pretty blue jewel, and _presses_ it in, pushes at it, _oh_. Bucky mewls, tilts his bottom back into the feeling, opens his mouth and lets himself moan gluttonously. He feels open, deliciously so, gaping almost but so, so stuffed.

Daddy spanks him again, one hot hand quick over where his thigh and ass meet before those dexterous fingers are _pulling_ at the plug.

“Daddy… _oh_ fuck, Daddy yes—fuck it.”

The tilt of Bucky’s ass enhances the feeling of the plug stretching him open and Daddy pulls it out to its widest point and _holds it there,_ pulses it _._ It’s a big plug, a heavy one, one that Daddy spent a decent amount of time working Bucky up to. Bucky can’t breathe.

“Look at _that,_ baby, that’s a pretty pussy, _fuck_ …”

When Daddy pulls the plug free, controls the pace and keeps it slow, Bucky’s torso _quakes_. It almost makes him feel like he’s going to come, gets him closer to that sweet, sweet release. _Now_ he feels open, _now_ he feels wide and wet, _now_ he doesn’t stop himself from humping himself down over Daddy’s lap. His ass is on fire, throbs with every heartbeat, and it makes him want to curl his lips into a snarl.

“Make that pussy wink, make it wink at Daddy, Buck come on. Show me,” Daddy demands perfectly, fingers rubbing tight at Bucky’s taint at the same time one of the older man’s hands digs into his hair, pulls it taut. The noise that bubbles up through Bucky’s mouth is one that grates against his throat. It isn’t an unusual command; Daddy asks Bucky to make his pussy talk all the time. He knows how to move his muscles, to pulse and tighten them in order to give Daddy what he wants.

He gets another spank and squeeze for his troubles, one that makes him grit his teeth, makes Daddy pull on his hair harder.

“That’s _it,_ god. S’pussy is somethin’ else, _fuck_. Hungry already, aren’t you, babylove? You need—”

It’s too much, so much. It has built and built, bubbled over in Bucky’s sloppy brain, his tight core.

“Wanna come…!” Bucky shouts, breath hitching, interrupting Daddy’s thoughts, his words. “Make me come, make me come, make me—”

Bucky is on his back in two seconds, in the blink of an eye. Daddy felt sublime beneath him, but he feels heavenly on top of him, between his legs, overwhelming him yet again. He sobs when his ass comes in contact with the cool fabric of the sheets, wants to yank himself away but finds himself pressing and grinding his ass down into them.

The hand around his throat reminds him of the fat plug they’ve been playing with, heavy and ever-present. One of Daddy’s hands spans the column of Bucky’s throat with ease and that too makes Bucky’s eyes cross and roll. It’s a tight grip, _an overwhelming one_ , and it leaves Bucky gasping. Daddy’s teeth press into Bucky’s cheek as he spits out words into this skin but Bucky is unable to make out what they are.

He’s too busy figuring out how to squeal while being choked. He’s too preoccupied with the feeling of Daddy slipping his cock into Bucky’s pussy with ease.

He’s had a plug in for at least an hour and taking Daddy is _still_ an adjustment. His walls ache, shake, take and adjust. Daddy is so _big_ , so fat, so fuckin’ good. He wishes he could tell Daddy just so, but surely he can understand what Bucky is trying to say.

Bucky’s legs are spread wide in the air, careless and uninhibited. _Slut,_ he thinks he hears Daddy say but there’s no way for him to know for sure. The hand around his neck stays but Daddy moves, pulls back and up. His cock just…it just _sits_ in Bucky, fills Bucky up past the brim because Daddy is pressing in so goddamn tight it’s almost too much, too much, _too much._

“You fuckin’ asked for it, Buck—you take it. Come on, you take it. Give it to Daddy, give it to me.”

His eyesight starts to go blurry. He thinks he starts to cry. He can’t stop milking Daddy’s cock instead of a plug and _fuck_ , it’s so much better, _so_ much better.

But then there’s a hand on his dick too. He gets another fat smack on his ass before it’s there so he barely notices, all sensation blurring into one feeling of immense pleasure, but it’s _there._ Daddy’s grip is tight, harsh, and Bucky is so wet it makes the glide and slip of his fist divine. With a growl and one punch of his hips, Daddy gets him there.

His hands come to life and scramble at Steve’s hand, his arm, just like the way his breath scrambles out of his mouth. The hand around his throat lets up but the one around his dick doesn’t, not even as he shoots and drools all over Daddy’s fist, all over his own torso. His noise is nothing less than a scream, a wail, but it’s only out of his mouth for a second before there are fingers in his mouth.

_“Holy shit,_ Bucky yes. Wan’it all.”

Even if Bucky wouldn’t give Daddy his all, the older man most definitely knows how to take everything from him. Bucky wanted overwhelming and he gets it, shakes from head to toe, becomes momentarily worried that he is going to pass out right here at the hands of his Daddy. He’s one ball of trembling overwhelmed pleasure, can’t stop making noises, can’t stop heaving in breaths around the fingers in his mouth. He is stuffed from both ends and _loves_ it, almost wants more but doesn’t know if that’s even possible.

He’s sure Daddy could show him though, could make him feel more and more and more until he’s floating on this familiar yet foreign sugary-spun cloud, barely tethered to the Earth. And he’s sure he’d cry, _“Thank you, Daddy. I love you,”_ as many times as he could manage, just so Daddy could know exactly how thankful Bucky was. And he’d stay there, hanging on by a thread all for Daddy before slipping away.

But not before Daddy has his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


	5. Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky: Daddy Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Daddy Kink, Light Dirty Talk, Fluff, Drunk BB Buck, Standing Snugs, Playful Bois (can you tell i’m not used to non-explicit tags lmao)

They’re maybe three minutes from the house when Bucky lolls his head in Steve’s direction with little self-control, wobbly as the car takes a turn, and murmurs, “Nat asked me about my _Daddy_ tonight…”

Months ago, this would have sent Steve’s heartbeat rising, would have made his hands a bit clammy on the steering wheel. Despite his confidence this made him nervous. He knows there is no one else more important than Nat in Bucky’s life, knows how much Bucky values her presence and her opinion. In the present though, he himself is aware that Nat is privy of his and Bucky’s relationship and what it entails exactly. Now Bucky’s lead-in is almost amusing.

“Did she now?” Steve presses gently, looking over at Bucky in the passenger seat. He’s beautiful, is always like nothing and no one Steve has ever set eyes on, but there’s a little something special about this playful tipsy side of Bucky. When Steve rolls to a stop at the last traffic light before home, he looks over to watch Bucky blink lazily over at him, one of those sideways grins splitting his face. It makes Steve smirk in kind.

“She did,” Bucky slurs proudly as he sits up in his seat somewhat. “Asked me how my Daddy was.”

Steve feels frisky fingers on his arm, traipse up his shoulder. Steve rumbles.

“What did you tell her?”

“Said you were good. Told her work has finally calmed down. Told her ‘bout… _last week,”_ Bucky explains, purring out his words at the end of his sentence like a kitten. Just like the smirk, it makes Steve purr right alongside Bucky, noise unintentional at first, but very much becoming just that when Bucky leans across the arm rest and nibbles at Steve’s earlobe.

Last week was their much-needed getaway, was Steve’s surprise to Bucky. Snowy cabin, charming towns, no cell phone reception, prolonged periods of time where they did nothing but love on each other in the most intimate of ways. They had been stressed, had been feeling the pressures of _life_ and Steve knew he needed to get them away from it all, knew he needed to take Bucky somewhere special.

It had been heaven on Earth.

“Last week…?” Steve chides playfully as he tries his hardest to not let Bucky’s lips on the hinge of his jaw distract him from parking the car. Bucky giggles, _giggles,_ sighs heavily into Steve’s skin. He smells a bit like tequila. Steve doesn’t mind it.

_“Mhmm_ , last week. Told her all ‘bout the meal at th’restaurant when we almost got snowed in. Told her about the roses. Told her ‘bout… _the sex.”_

Steve huffs out an amused laugh as he shuts the car off, turning to give Bucky the hot open-mouthed kiss he deserves. Bucky just… _melts_ into Steve. He sighs breathily once more, sways into Steve, deepens the kiss with a moan. Steve always forgets the effect he can have on Bucky when he’s so preoccupied with Bucky’s own effect on himself.

“Told her about the hot tub. Told her about how good if felt riding you through the floor in front of the fire. Told her about how we didn’t leave the bed for the first twenty-eight hours….”

Even Steve’s little kisses are hot as he presses them into Bucky’s cheek as he talks, his lips. He absentmindedly takes note of how soft Bucky’s skin is, of how he smells somewhat like a spa. They must have not drunkenly forgotten the face masks Bucky brought over with him.

Steve nips at Bucky’s chin, grabs it with tight fingers, is quick to call Bucky’s bluff.

“No you didn’t.”

Bucky’s moan turns into another giggle, a bubble of a noise bursting right on Steve’s lips.

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky confirms. “But I’did mention the sex in general, generally speaking.” Bucky waves his hand to prove his muddled point. Steve knows Bucky, is aware of that confidence always peeking out, at the ready. He knows his Buck is a sweet thing, a somewhat introverted shy being, that sex can sometimes be an awkward thing to discuss. He also knows that Bucky can be quite the horndog when he wants to be, quite the minx. He is is cognizant of the fact that Bucky would go into no such detail about his sex life with Steve with anyone.

With one quick peck to Bucky’s cheeky grin, Steve is opening his door and stepping onto the pavement. His sweatshirt was a smart choice, but his shorts may not have been, the nighttime air chilly and breezy. He grabs Bucky’s hand as soon as he can, tucks him close under his arm even given the few steps up to their front door. Bucky could make it, isn’t _that_ drunk, but this touch is more for Steve.

“She asked me why you were my Daddy,” Bucky says almost to himself, voice mushy with some exhaustion creeping in to couple with his inebriation. The television is still on and allows for the living room to have a pleasant glow to it, Steve having ran out of the house as soon as he received his text from Bucky. Steve hums as they make their way into the kitchen, follows Bucky’s lead. He could have won a bet on his life that Bucky would have reached for the freezer, for his reliable pint of ice cream.

This off-handed comment is much more intriguing than the first. Steve hands Bucky a spoon, watches in amusement as Bucky hops up to sit on the counter with a startling amount of grace for someone who has had far too much tequila for someone his size.

“Yeah?” is all Steve responds with.

Bucky nods his head before realizing he also needs to verbalize his answer.

“Mhmm, she asked me why we enjoyed this… _this._ Why I liked you being my Daddy so much.”

Steve slips his shoes off, leans down onto the counter, forearms pressed tight against cool marble. Bucky, the sweet baby, turns and cheerily feeds him a heaping spoonful of ice cream that Steve happily accepts. Steve is more than fascinated, wants to know what Bucky responded with, if at all. He raises his eyebrow when Bucky looks down and over at him.

“You wanna know what I told her?” Bucky teases, eyes drooping as he blinks slowly, mouth full of ice cream. Steve would press back about Bucky using his manners but he’s far too preoccupied with the topic at hand.

“A’course I do, sugar. What’d you tell her?”

Bucky pauses, collects his thoughts as he eats another spoonful of ice cream. _Adorable._

“I… I tried to tell her about… about how I need that other level of love and support. About how I need more than just… just a partner.”

Steve is enraptured from Bucky’s first few words. The back of his neck tingles a bit, some form of goosebumps as his mind, maybe his body, recognizes that this might be something special.

“I’m… you know how I am. I feel like I need more reassurance than most people in a relationship do, more support. I know that—I’m soft,” Bucky explains with a bittersweet smile, spoon digging into his ice cream, chipping away at it, a fidget of sorts. Steve’s movement is automatic, is natural, and he leans forward and presses his lips into Bucky’s knee. Bucky is soft, the sweetest thing Steve has ever met, but he would never change Bucky given the chance; he’s perfect the way he is.

Bucky slips a chilled hand through Steve’s hair, also somewhat a natural response, before continuing.

“You’re my boyfriend, my partner, but you’re more than that. Because I need more than that. I need that added layer of love and guidance.”

The more that Bucky speaks, the closer Steve needs to be to him. It’s impossible for his body to not react to Bucky’s words, like there’s this rope between them that tugs Steve closer and closer, a rope that Steve has grown to cherish more and more each day. Bucky’s legs part, Steve saddles in close, runs his hands up Bucky’s sides. Bucky sets the ice cream down onto the counter, spoon clattering messily.

“It’s… it’s so… it was so hard to try and put what we have and how it makes me feel into words. Nothing’s good ‘nough.”

Steve doesn’t need to guide and reach for Bucky’s hands, doesn’t need to pull them tight around his waist because Bucky is already on his way to doing just that. He does anyway. Steve feels secure, feels himself give that security right back as he presses and tucks Bucky’s arms around his own narrow waist, behind his back. The happy noise that slips from Bucky’s mouth and into Steve’s neck almost makes his toes curl in his socks. His face is tucked into the column of Bucky’s throat and the younger keeps on talking.

“This is special. You’re special. I feel like… like what we have people don’t just… _have._ I like that you take care of me, I like knowing that… that if I don’t know what to do or say you know just what I need or what I should do. I like that you make decisions for me, I like that you protect me like you do. I…”

Steve can’t do a single damn thing to stop what his body wants, the way it seeks Bucky out as he speaks such words. His lips press into Bucky’s chin, his cheek, his hands cup his jaw. Bucky barely seems to notice but that’s okay; it’s all fine.

“I love that you’re my Daddy. And I think you love me more _because_ you are my Daddy. No, maybe… maybe not ‘more’ but maybe on another level, a deeper level. And I need… I want that extra love. And it… this may not always be what we _do_ but it works right now and… and I love it, I love it so much, Steve.”

Bucky pulls back with wide determined eyes, bright with all things love and light, and clarifies, “I love _you_ so much, Steve. Love my Daddy.”

Bucky smiles into their next few kisses, makes those familiar Happy Baby noises when they break apart and he turns to press his face into Steve’s shoulder, his neck.

“I’ll always want you to be my Daddy, Steve. It’s more than… than just some kink to me. Saying that you’re my Daddy means so much m-more to me than what people think it is or what preconceived notions come to mind when people hear _‘Daddy Kink’._ ”

“Did you just… did you just use the words ‘preconceived notions’ while heavily intoxicated?”

Bucky snorts into the hinge of Steve’s jaw.

“I’m… I’m pourin’ my heart out here, Rogers. Focus, please?”

It’s Steve’s turn to snicker; the sass never fails to do that to him.

“What I’m _trying_ to say is… is that… I don’t know, I love us. I love this. I love you bein’ my Daddy and the constant validation and comfort it brings me. I love you.”

Steve is left a bit breathless after a whirlwind few minutes. He wonders if Bucky realizes he’s genuinely laid his heart out for Steve, has verbalized for Steve his barest and most precious thoughts. There have been times where Bucky has tried to tell Steve how he feels, but they have been bits and pieces here and there. Steve is mindful of how Bucky feels about their relationship, about their underlying dynamic, but Steve has received such knowledge because of Bucky’s actions more than his words.

Bucky gifts Steve with so much trust on a daily basis it is staggering. If Steve focuses too much of his attention and brain power on that aspect alone, he becomes quite breathless. The way Bucky’s eyes go soft when Steve makes a decision for the two of them, the way his shoulders relax, the way he _yields_ to Steve; it’s breathtaking.

But Bucky has yet to articulate his internal thoughts and explanation to his actions and feelings. Hearing them tossed out into the air between them is leaving Steve feeling jarringly off-kilter, emotional. Those words weigh heavy on him; he can almost feel the presence of such pressure on his shoulders. He’ll always want to mean this much to Bucky, to be this powerful presence in the younger man’s life. It’s a pressure he’ll carry and hold close to his chest, cradled against his heart, as long as Bucky will let him.

Steve hopes the watery smile that breaks across his face is one that Bucky remembers, is one that conveys just how much Bucky’s words mean to him. He cradles Bucky’s face as he kisses him, as he gazes down into those effervescent and familiar eyes that are _home._ Is _love_ a powerful enough word to relay how Steve feels in this moment? How he feels every day?

Steve doesn’t think so, but he says it anyway.

“I sure do love you, Bucky Barnes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


	6. Daddy James and Stevie Baby: Knife Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Daddy Kink, Knife Kink, Competency Kink, Kink Discovery, Implied Car Sex, Light Subspace, Dom/Sub Undertones

“Do you… have you always carried a knife?”

Steve’s feet feel like lead. His eyes are locked onto where the shining flicker of metal was seen not moments ago, quick like a flash yet unmistakable there on James’ lower back. James settles into the familiar restaurant booth, maroon cushions draped in velvet, only the best. With the wink of what has to be a knife seemingly searing into Steve’s mind, he swallows rather heavily.

James just hums in acknowledgement, always a bit short when he’s needing food, waves his hand.

“Only just started. Been going to some rougher areas, clients that need a… different kind of motivation…”

Steve almost collapses. He might even sway where he stands, maybe falls into his seat. He wants to drop to the floor, wants to crawl for this man, wants to kneel between his spread thighs and get finger-fed under the table for dinner. He’s almost delirious by the onslaught of wants, shakes his head to uselessly clear them away.

“Oh…” is all Steve can say in response to James’ unprecedented words, wanting to go through the motions of picking up his menu and giving it a scan. All he can think about is the strap wrapped tightly around his Daddy’s waist under his leather jacket, the one that has a _knife_ encased and resting on his lower back.

Steve is so distracted James has to end up ordering for him. It does not help his predicament.

It’s a quiet dinner, not out of the ordinary for the two of them, but it’s loud inside Steve’s head. He eats _(hold fork between fingers, raise fork to mouth, lower hand, chew, swallow, repeat),_ but he is very much not present, in the moment. He is entirely too consumed by his thoughts about Daddy with a _knife._ James has a knife, carries a _knife,_ holds it close to his person so he can _use it_ if need be.

Has James ever used said knife? Would Steve be okay with James using a _knife_ on someone? The mere thought of James reaching for his knife in order to use it or threaten someone has Steve wanting to lean forward and press his forehead against their table.

There’s a part of Steve’s brain that is completely and truly owned by the way James commands a room, his sheer presence. That is something that has been established, that they’ve explored. Daddy having a knife handy at any moment to protect himself, to protect Steve, to _use,_ leaves Steve flustered all throughout their meal.

His brain is barraged by image after image, scenario after scenario. James cleaning his nails with the sharp tip of the blade, feet up on his desk as someone sits across from him trembling in their seat. James reaching for it, quick like lightning, when someone makes any indication that they’re moving in on him. James chuckling as he unintentionally lifts his jacket by putting his hands on his hips, the flash of the weapon a threat within itself.

Steve feels like a kept boy, feels like his Daddy is a mob boss or some crazy shit. _Maybe he is_ , Steve’s mind allows him to blasphemously think. Steve isn’t entirely aware of what his job actually is. It’s impossible. _But is it?_

By the time they’re walking out of the restaurant, James’ hand on Steve’s lower back ( _mirror to where that goddamn knife is on Daddy’s own back_ ), Steve is far too overwhelmed for something so significantly unimportant. The presence of that knife feels much greater than it genuinely is, and Steve is clambering into Daddy’s lap as soon as the driver closes the car door behind them.

Daddy knows. Steve can tell immediately. He knows Steve is having these _thoughts_ about that knife and he knows that James is being intentional in the way he doesn’t promptly reach for Steve. He lets Steve grovel, allows for him to grab for James’ jaw with eager fingers, lets Steve rock his hips down, his thighs squeezing tight around that stocky waist.

Steve thinks he can feel the dig of that holster on the inside of his knee and it makes him want to scream.

When Daddy doesn’t reach for him on his third body roll, he dips his head and bites at that dimpled chin. James just breathes out a knowing smile.

“What is this? What’s gotten into you?” he inquires in a whisper and he _still_ isn’t touching Steve. He reaches for James’ hands then. He picks them up and pulls them to his hips, full yet sharp, all while keeping his mouth close enough to Daddy’s to feel the breath of his chuckle on his bottom lip.

_“Touch me,”_ is all he can bite out, much feistier than he intends but akin to the moment. When Steve drops James’ hands, Daddy gives Steve’s hips a good squeeze, one that has Steve gasping wetly and then whining. It’s a grip that comes with a bite of pain, one that Steve is familiar with, but one that feels brand new in this moment. Steve gives Daddy’s jaw little kitten licks, revels in the sharpness of the stubble under his tongue.

“Alright, _there_ ,” Daddy chides. “M’touchin’. Answer me—what’s this?”

Steve doesn’t want to _talk_. Talking is pointless. Steve wants Daddy to fuck him, wants the older man to open up his pants, wants Daddy to make him choke. He’s so hard in his jeans he’s worried he’s going to come in his pants, feels like he’s right on the edge of doing so with thirty seconds of some grab-ass in the backseat of this car. The noise he makes sounds like a snarl even to his own ears.

“Nothin’, nothin’ I’m… it’s not—”

_“Baby…”_ Daddy coos, hands sweeping tight up his back and then down. “Sweet boy…”

Steve’s jaw ticks at the same time his head lolls forward. His chest burns hot with arousal, that familiar wave that rolls down into his stomach in an achy yet pleasant way. His body screams all kinds of _yes_ but—

_“Don’t…_ don’t do that, don’t—”

“What?” James presses, hands kneading at and encircling Steve’s waist with a rumble. Daddy doesn’t even need to force Steve to look up at him, his chin tipping with ease with a nudge of his nose. It makes Steve’s head _swim_ , makes him think about that knife again and the power it adds to his Daddy. Here he is commanding Steve with purrs and chin nudges, simple gestures, and all Steve can think about is what Daddy can make others do with a knife in his hands.

“Don’t _sweet boy_ me, you know… you know what it does to me, you know—”

“Want you to be honest with me, doll. You think I’m askin’ these questions for unknown information? Or am I askin’ because I’m givin’ you a chance to be honest with your Daddy?”

Steve whines into James’ cheek, hips swirling, fingers digging into Daddy’s jaw. It’s Steve’s weak point, _sweet boy_ , and Daddy knows exactly when to utilize it to the fullest. Steve bends and sucks rather harshly on the edge of James’ jaw in blatant retaliation.

_“Daddy…”_ Steve tries, desperate for James to just move with the information he has, to just act on it instead of making Steve verbalize his desire. James doesn’t take the bait. His hands feel like they encase Steve in full, like they’re everywhere, feeling as if they have fluidity to them.

“I… I wanna see it. _Show me._ ”

It’s James’ turn to dig his teeth into Steve’s neck.

“Don’t be a _brat._ Use your manners. Say it.”

Steve can’t. He isn’t sure why. Even knowing damn well what’s strapped firmly around Daddy’s waist, he can’t bring himself to utter those words, to put them out in the air. He might cry. He might _come._

Daddy knows. He always knows when and how to reach out and pull Steve closer to his instincts, closer to the things he wants. In this case it’s with Steve’s own hand. With another nudge of Steve’s chin with his nose, Daddy searches his eyes as he guides Steve’s hand to his waist. Steve’s heart kicks up into his throat. James’ eyes make him feel safe.

Daddy slides Steve’s hand to his hip, a bit behind his back, and Steve can’t even stop the way his breath gets audibly caught up in his throat when he feels the leather beneath his fingertips. Steve’s eyelids feel heavy.

“You wanna see _this_ …?” James inquires hotly against Steve’s mouth and over his whine. He feels himself nod his head.

_“Daddy…_ please?”

With how closely he’s pressed to Daddy’s burlier chest Steve is almost certain the older man can feel the way his heart slams against his ribs, heavy and wanton. If he is unable to feel the sudden increase of Steve’s heart, he can surely see the way his pulse pounds under the skin of his neck.

James has used this knife before, is familiar with the way it handles and feels. Steve can tell by the way he efficiently pulls it from its strap even with Steve in his lap. He whimpers into Daddy’s temple, right where his lips land as he lets the sudden weight of his head carry him forward. When James makes a noise, a slight one, Steve turns his head messily to the side. Daddy’s lips end up on his own temple when he locks eyes with that goddamn knife.

_“Oh…_ ”

Steve isn’t entirely sure what to expect but he’s immediately taken with the size of the knife. It’s large, much larger than he had assumed, but very fitting for his Daddy: sleek, dark, dangerous. James holds it with grace, neutral and open for Steve to take in, casual as his other hand reaches up to comfortingly cup the nape of Steve’s neck. Daddy holds him there, kisses the side of his face as he looks. If he’s not careful, James is going to blur the lines between danger and arousal for Steve.

“I gotta say, sweet boy,” Daddy starts and _goddamn_ that _sweet boy_ again. “This isn’t one I expected coming from you…”

Steve doesn’t respond to that one because, quite honestly, he feels the same way. He didn’t see this one coming either. But he can’t take his eyes off it, can’t stop watching the way it shines and glimmers with each passing city light through the car window. Daddy has a knife. Daddy uses this knife for possibly bad things. Daddy has a knife to pull and use at any time, and _oh_ he can keep Steve safe.

It’s that thought that has Steve whimpering, regretfully turning his head back in Daddy’s direction to mold his lips into James’ own. Steve tries not to think of how he’s kissing his Daddy while he holds a _knife_ but it’s so hard. _He’s_ so hard. His balls feel so full and he thinks he might be wet in his briefs. Has anything ever given him this kind of immediate and visceral reaction?

Daddy’s mouth moves against his in a less-reserved way, the heat of the moment seemingly getting under his skin. Steve presses his hands against the front of James’ shirt, paws at his chest as Daddy works his mouth over expertly, hot and wet and open. When he gives Steve’s tongue a sharp _suck_ , Steve mewls and looks back at the knife.

“Do you… do you use it often?”

Steve doesn’t even know how he’s speaking. James hums.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘use’. Depends on if you want to know the answer,” James murmurs into his ear almost casually. He could have given Steve any answer, any answer at all, and Steve would have melted under his words. This answer leaves him coming apart at the seams. It isn’t an answer but _it is,_ it gives Steve everything he needs to know.

_“Fuck…”_

When Steve rocks his hips down into Daddy’s it’s unintentional on his part, but what _is_ intentional is the second slower rock. Daddy is hard. Steve wants his Daddy.

“How did you learn to use it?” Steve practically moans, eyelids growing heavier as he watches Daddy flick and twirl it around and between his fingers. He doesn’t stop his hips, can’t at this point; he’s too far gone.

“Learned when I was younger, needed to. Family business,” is all Daddy husks out and Steve’s hands go rigid in James’ shirt, scratch up his neck. Steve has questions, a plethora of them, but he doesn’t want to keep asking them. He wants to come. He wants to make Daddy come. He wants Daddy to use him in every way Steve can manage and then _more_. His Daddy feels important, feels dangerous, feels like someone who is mean to others but is sweet on Steve. Maybe he knew this, maybe he’s known this all along and just hasn’t processed in full.

He wants to feel special for his Daddy.

“I wanna make you come,” he hears himself bite out and he nods his head in agreement with himself, with his own words. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Daddy toss the knife to the side. He doesn’t know why he expects James to put it away, to slip it back inside of its case, but James doesn’t. He keeps it there on the seat, a foot away from their entangled position.

“Whatever you want, sweet boy…”

Steve _wants,_ wants to be Daddy’s sweet boy. He feels it, feels sweet and a little sleepy. He feels sweet as he’s pushed to the floor, guided by capable hands and a purr that Steve feels in his toes. He feels sweet between Daddy’s spread thighs, feels sweet when Daddy’s groan hits his ears as he swallows Daddy’s cock down to the root. Even when Steve finds himself glancing to the seat, to that exposed blade, Daddy pinching his ear as he tells him to _“look but don’t touch, honey”,_ Steve feels like sugar-spun sweetness.

He may not be sweet all the time, but his Daddy makes him feel that way. His Daddy is perfect, makes him feel safe and protected and so fucking _sweet._ He wants to stay a sweet boy and thinks, in an odd, backwards way maybe, that this knife helps him stay just that. It’s a dangerous weapon, nothing to be toyed with, but it keeps him and his Daddy secure and therefore keeps him Daddy’s sweet boy.

And if he comes with a squeal not a minute after Daddy pulls him off the floor with a slick mouth and wraps a hand around both of their dicks, Steve’s eyes locked onto that knife in the seat next to them, surely he cannot be blamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


	7. Alpha Steve and Omega Bucky: Fingering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Fingering, Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Undertones, Couch Sex, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha Steve, Omega Bucky

Bucky knew it from the very beginning of their relationship, Steve’s need to possess and protect and _claim_ ; this was made very clear to Bucky from the start. It carries the potential to scare others, Steve’s intensity, but the Omega in Bucky soaked it in and preened from the get-go, even leaned into it. He adores the seemingly unnecessary scent marking, the intentional touches while in public and under the eye of others, the hickey that purposefully reappears again and again on the underside of Bucky’s jaw.

_“Nobody else’s. Know you know that, Omega—need others to know…”_

Steve is an Alpha who needs to feel, needs to touch, needs to _know._ Needs to have Bucky’s submission, needs to touch each curve and patch of skin, needs to know Bucky loves him with every fiber of his being. Luckily, Bucky is someone who is willing to give that to his Alpha.

He is more than okay, ecstatic even, with the boneless moments when Steve grips the back of his neck to mark him up before he leaves for work. He revels in the moments where his Alpha needs to take time for himself, needs to rub and touch and squeeze on Bucky’s body, needs time alone with him. Those are the moments Bucky wants Steve to take, wants Steve to have.

Moments like now.

This moment is slow and syrupy. It is one where the two of them are drunk on the aroused smell of the other, the aroma of their two scents mingling and molding together in the air around them. Bucky can barely keep his eyes open. It wasn’t deliberate, rarely is, inner-beings and energies drawn to the other. Not even half an hour ago the two of them had been curled up together, watching a movie, Steve’s hands wandering up and under one of his own hoodies swallowing up Bucky’s body. Innocent touches turned purposeful and did so at a rapid pace.

They often end up intertwined and needy without even realizing it. But once there, Steve has to _have._

Thank goodness they chose to keep Steve’s couch when they made the decision to move everything into Bucky’s now-smaller apartment. The couch is large, comfy, _soft._ The two of them can almost lay side-by-side on their backs and that’s impressive considering the sheer size of Bucky’s Alpha. Bucky takes frequent naps on this couch, curled up tight on one edge of it, the one in the perfect position to catch the afternoon rays of sun.

Bucky also finds himself on this couch with Steve three fingers deep in his cunt more often than he thinks is normal.

“Might be my favorite spot on your pretty little body,” Steve tells Bucky in a mumble, voice hot and damp on the skin behind his ear. “Right _here.”_

Bucky moans and swears he can feel Steve’s fingers in his throat when they curl and press right up against his swollen sweet spot. It makes him leak from both ends, dick drooling on his belly where Steve pushed up the hem of his hoodie to see, that small burst of slick his Alpha gets for showing his cunt such attention. Bucky fights the way his eyes want to roll when he hears Steve inhale heavily, when he’s gifted with a hungry rumble.

“That’s right, right there, honey,” Steve tells him as if Bucky can’t feel the way his own walls flutter deliciously around his Alpha’s digits. Bucky whines, scorching and low in his throat, always a little annoyed at being so _seen_ and _known_ by his Alpha. He lets his head fall back onto the pillow behind it, behind Steve’s arm. He lets his hips roll, tiny miniscule pumps, fucks himself down onto Steve’s fingers. He revels in the stretch of his rim, sighs with it.

Alpha has big fingers, capable yet delicate. They are thick and erotic, able to wrap Bucky’s neck up in a one-handed grip yet can sweep charcoal across paper with incredible tenderness. They help Steve love on Bucky like nothing else can, those fingers and that grip able to communicate with him better than anything else. Right now, Steve’s fingers tell him he’s loved, that he’s _desired._ Steve fingers and the way they stroke Bucky’s cunt tell Bucky that his Alpha loves touching him, aches to make Bucky feel good in a way only his Alpha can.

Bucky also thinks that might be because of the stiff line of Steve’s erection pressing up against his thigh.

When Steve pulls his fingers free, he immediately slips them back into Bucky’s cunt with only two, gives Bucky the chance to feel empty, to let his need to be _filled_ grow.

_“Don’t_ … don’t tease,” Bucky pouts, far past the point where begging would make his cheeks go up in flames. He tilts his hips up to make his point and Steve sighs into Bucky’s cheek, lifts his leg to curl it over the top of Bucky’s own, slow like honey. It makes Bucky feel momentarily okay with being as empty, feeling so _held down_ and _caged_ by his Alpha. The back of his neck burns with a bit of vulnerability, of being so exposed and open, but he finds himself doing what he can to let his thighs fall open wider.

_“Alpha,”_ Bucky whimpers, turning his head to make his words count as he nuzzles his nose against Steve’s cheek, his chin. “Make me full.”

_“God,_ look at’chu, sweet little pup,” Steve purrs in a way that sounds like Bucky almost isn’t even there, like it’s more of a vocalized observation for himself. The arm curled around the back of Bucky’s neck comes to life, pulls him in closer to Steve’s body with a yummy rumble. Bucky likes that, likes being put where his Alpha wants him, likes being held. He likes the way Steve’s thumb digs in behind his balls almost more than that.

Three fingers is bliss, is much better than two. Three of Steve’s fingers make him feel stretched to the brim and Bucky mewls at the feeling of them sliding and pressing in and out of his achy opening. He lets his eyes fall closed with a throaty moan when Steve’s thumb goes back to rubbing circles around Bucky’s perineum.

“Love how wet you get for me, Omega,” Steve murmurs into the high point of Bucky’s cheekbone, arm shifting forward and back as he continues to luxuriously pump his fingers, to please Bucky. He _is_ wet. He can feel it and hear it, will always be a tiny bit ashamed at how wet he gets for his Alpha. Steve would growl if he knew Bucky sometimes feels that way; this is one of those instances where Steve loves to _feel._

Bucky can feel his insides begin to curl a bit, that pleasant tightening in his groin. This has been a slow build, an intense one, and Bucky knows that when he crumbles, he is going to crumble _hard._ He can smell his Alpha’s arousal, that scent dedicated for only Bucky, specific to _them._ He can smell Steve’s muskiness, his cock, and he reaches down and flexes his fingers into the crotch of Steve’s sweats. He purrs when his touch is met with a hot erection, a stiff line that Bucky paws at. The walls of his cunt momentarily tighten just feeling his Alpha’s cock.

_“Oh,_ feel that, know what that means. You gettin’ close, baby?” Steve purrs and presses in closer to nuzzle at Bucky’s scent gland. As if Steve needs an answer from Bucky to tell that Bucky is approaching his climax, as if he can’t _feel_ it on his fingers. Bucky yields immediately, tilts his neck back and gives himself over willingly to his Alpha, rocks his hips up to meet Steve’s hand.

_“Ngh,_ mhmm yeah… _yeah_ m’close,” Bucky whimpers, turns his cheek towards Steve with such force that it twists his upper half with it. When he goes to overcorrect, Steve’s arm keeps him tucked into Steve’s jaw with a low purr, arm curling tightly. It’s messy, _he’s messy,_ the desperation of their scramble adding to Bucky’s pleasure.

He clutches at Steve’s bare chest, his pec, finally able to get use out of one hand and does so with his own kind of purr. He wants to keep his legs spread, wants to hike his thigh up over Steve’s hip. When Alpha rumbles, “Yeah, Buck— _up,”_ he does just that with a slight hike up of his hoodie as well.

“That’sa boy, there ya go. Keep it… keep your— _there ya go,_ all open for me. You gonna make a mess’a me, pretty?”

_“Steve_ , I’m… _no_ , not a mess, not—”

“Oh, _honey_ but you are, you _are_ gonna mess me right up. _Already_ are _,”_ Steve whispers, gruff and hot. To prove his point, Steve fucks his fingers into Bucky’s cunt with a bit more force, stroking him just for the purpose of hearing how wet with slick Bucky is. The familiar yet continuously humiliating _squelch_ of his ready and willing hole makes Bucky whine into his Alpha’s scent gland, his neck. From this new position, Bucky can feel what he couldn’t laying on his back; he can feel the coolness of his slick on the inside of his thighs, the curve of his ass.

His reaction is immediate upon being made so aware of his messiness. He tips his ass back more, stretches his body out to give Steve easier access, tightens his thigh around Alpha’s waist. When he speaks, he does so closely, licks his words into Steve’s throat.

“Make me come, Alpha.”

It never fails to make Steve growl. Bucky knows how it makes Steve feel and that’s why he uses it.

The added pressure and closeness of Bucky’s frontside makes him feel like he’s groveling, and he _hates_ how hot it makes him feel, how much closer it pushes him to his orgasm. Alpha’s fingers stroke his walls, fuck in and out of his cunt lewdly, managing to do so perfectly even given their tangled position. An arm around his neck holding him in tight to Steve’s neck, rutting his dick up against his Alpha’s fuzzy stomach, thick fingers stretching his rim out repeatedly; Alpha is going to make him come.

_“Steve…!”_

“Yeah, _fuck_ come on, show me. Gimme what’s mine, doll—give it to me.”

Bucky loves his Alpha. He loves the way he makes him feel, loves who he is as a person, a protector. He loves how safe he makes Bucky feel, loves how he makes him laugh, loves how he can be himself around his Alpha. But Bucky really, _really_ loves the way his Alpha makes him come. He makes Bucky’s body light up in a way he could never experience with another person.

With a bottled-up squeal, Bucky comes, just like his Alpha tells him to. The pleasure that rockets up and licks down Bucky’s spine makes his eyes roll back into his head. He can _hear_ how wet his cunt it, how sloppy he is, as he fucks himself back onto Steve’s fingers, riding out his orgasm. He can feel his sticky come on his own belly, the way he smears it around onto Steve’s when he bucks and rolls.

_“Oh,_ honey yeah, so fuckin’ pretty. Look at you, c’mere lemme—”

Bucky rides his climax out being worked over from both ends, mouth lax and warm against Steve’s own, panting and mewling and open. In between kisses, Steve tells him all about how he’s going to roll his tight little body over and how sweet it’s going to feel slipping into Bucky’s waiting Omega cunt and how good Bucky is for letting his Alpha have him in such a way.

Bucky loves his Alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


	8. Andy Barber and Male Reader: In The Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Intercrural Sex (aka thigh fucking), Kitchen Sex, Secret Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Undertones, Age Difference, Grinding

_“Jacob, you alright going to the store while we finish cleaning up from dinner? You know what I like—mint chocolate chip!”_

The words bounce around in his skull like a marble, rolling around aimlessly without sticking any sort of landing, lacking comprehension. His hand stalls under the running faucet, fingers weakening on his grip on a plate, all at the seemingly cheery suggestion Mr. Barber gives his son.

Jacob’s going to _leave?_ Leave him alone with Mr. Barber? His name being spoken rips him from his few seconds of sheer panic.

“What kind of ice cream do you want?”

He doesn’t even remember what he says, doesn’t care. All he can think about is being alone with Mr. Barber for the first time in… weeks? Surely it hasn’t been that long, he thinks, but it has felt more like months, _years,_ and he can barely stand it. He’s never experienced such desperation before, has never been at the mercy of someone else’s touch the way he is with Mr. Barber.

They have done their fair share of exchanging heated glances, of discreet flirting, of frantic handsy makeout sessions. The thought of Mr. Barber’s capable hands on his body, his demanding lips on his own, his voice in his ear; it all never leaves. He’s consumed by the thoughts, by the ghost of lingering touches on his own skin and under his fingertips.

He’s always hard. He finds himself saving his pent-up energy for when he’s jamming his fingers into his mouth in the shower when his fist flies over his dick as he thinks about Mr. Barber fucking him.

_“You gonna take it? Yeah you are, gonna show me you can handle it, c’mon—be good for me.”_

He feels good when Mr. Barber touches him, feels good when Mr. Barber fucks him. He tries hard not to think about all the bad that he’s doing and tries even harder to not think about how good being bad makes him feel.

His hands tremble as he places the plate he just finished rinsing into the dishwasher. He hears the rattle of keys, the door to the garage shut, feels his chest constrict. He will not, under any circumstances, be the first one to make any sort of move or implication of so. He takes a few forks, rinses them under water that is steaming but that his hands don’t recognize as being hot, places those into the dishwasher as well.

Even when he can _sense_ Mr. Barber behind him, can hear his shaky breathing and feel the goddamn heat of his body, he does not turn around. It’s only until a hand, not his own, reaches forward and turns the faucet off. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, to lowly whimper out, _“Fuck’,_ but he does just that as he shuffles on his feet. He feels lips on his neck first, but hands quickly follow suit, two large palms that sweep up his torso, squeeze at his pecs.

“Wish I had enough time to fuck you,” Mr. Barber rumbles, wet on his neck as an arm goes taut around his waist, the other hand coming up to cup the front of his throat. So direct, almost abrasive, but it has his sigh turning into a whine of relief. Mr. Barber’s lips are hot on the side of his neck, wet and loud, and in just ten seconds their shared energy is almost chaotic.

“ _Can_ fuck me, want it. _Miss it_ ,” he breathes as he is pulled away from the sink and he _moans_ when the line of his back gets pulled against Mr. Barber’s front. _God,_ the older man’s cock is already hard against the small of his back, the top of his ass, and he _wants._ He no longer has to wonder why Mr. Barber put on sweats for the evening; it’s much easier to tease and _feel_ this way.He wants so much his own hand flies back to try and _touch,_ to reach, but he ends up pawing at Mr. Barber’s hip with a wet hand instead.

“Not enough time, not with what I wanna do to you,” Mr. Barber states, teeth tugging at the shell of his ear. He retaliates, _doesn’t like that,_ grinds back into Mr. Barber with a swirl of his hips and a huff.

“You haven’t fucked me in _weeks_ ,” he pouts, digging into Mr. Barber’s crotch so that his cock slots right between his ass cheeks, right where they both want him. There’s a low noise, the press of teeth against the hinge of his jaw, the hand around the front of his throat going momentarily and thrillingly tight. Through the sensations, his hips never stop moving. He takes the time to revel in the feeling and brief familiarity of that cock, also takes the time to whimper once more in disappointment of not having it inside of him tonight.

“Yeah? You upset about that?” Mr. Barber asks, a slight tease to his voice. _Bastard._ Before he can respond, Mr. Barber is pushing him chest-down into the counter, hand tight on the nape of his neck. He hates how good it feels to be in such a position, bent over with a cock heavy on his ass.

_“Yes,_ ” he bites out, hands moving to grip the edge of the countertop. He bites his lip to prevent himself from gifting Mr. Barber with any whimper when the older man rolls his hips forward more than a bit suggestively.

“Yeah, show me. Show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about.”

Mr. Barber’s voice is deliciously eager, both hands running down to squeeze at his waist, tight and yummy. He tugs on his hips, implies he moves, and with a heavy exhale, he’s grinding and rolling back into a sturdy torso, a firm cock. He lets himself get a little lost, lets himself feel. He stands up on his tippy toes to make the arch in his back count, making it easier to roll up and down. He mewls between his clenched teeth, wanting more while still trying to savor what he has in this moment.

“There you go, this what you’ve been thinkin’ about? Takin’ me like a champ?”

He is a fool for forgetting that Mr. Barber’s mouth is the filthiest fucking thing within the city limits, maybe beyond. It isn’t like anything he’s ever experienced with anyone else before and it has him agreeing and nodding his head immediately, stupidly.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, _please.”_

“More,” Mr. Barber demands, hands running up to his shoulders, and _oh_ that bit of force makes his dick throb in his shorts. “Tell me more, get specific. Come on, baby.”

The demand makes his grumble, but the addition of the _baby_ makes him turn his cheek sweetly into the countertop. A squeeze to his shoulders, a pull on them, and he’s melting underneath the hands and touch of Mr. Barber.

_“God,_ fuck. Think about you every night, wake up hard every morning. I… I t-touch myself thinking about you.”

“That’s sweet, do ya now?”

_“Mhmm,_ yeah think… think about you fuckin’ me,” he explains with a flush of his cheeks, and he has no control over the way his voice goes whiney, gets a bit breathless. His breathlessness continues, amplifies, when Mr. Barber’s hands run roughly up his sides to take hold of his neck. He whimpers, _mewls,_ when Mr. Barber takes his turn to roll his hips, to grind in tight to the curve of his ass. When Mr. Barber doesn’t interject, he continues.

“Think about… about how good you felt inside’a me. How… how you felt so good you made me _cry_.”

The groan Mr. Barber lets out is one that has a heavy presence, is one that he swears he can feel within his own chest. It has the hands forcefully wrapped around his neck scrambling down to his shorts. When they catch the waistband, _they tug_ , pulling his bottoms down his hips and over his ass. When the cooler air hits the heated skin of his backside, he can’t help but gasp.

His gasp turns into a purr of his own when Mr. Barber’s hands squeeze at the meat of his ass.

“Been thinkin’ about you sobbin’ around my cock for weeks,” Mr. Barber mumbles, voice like gravel against his ear, in his belly. He’d cry if Mr. Barber wanted it. He thinks he could cry without forcing it. With another whimper, he nods his head in agreement, in… something. He’s already forgotten.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinkin’ too, thinkin’ about the way that boy cunt looked all stretched around my cock, _so hungry._ Y’still hungry now, kid?”

With a luxurious stretch of the line of his back, a push of his ass, he’s moaning out, “Yes, sir _so hungry_.”

His briefs are next, a tug and an almost tear before they’re joining his shorts around his ankle. This move makes a blush rise to his cheeks, makes him whimper a bit in humiliation. His whimper appears to be pointless though, because Mr. Barber’s noise is so appreciative and gluttonous it takes the worries right out of his thoughts.

_“There he is_ , fuck that’s sweet,” Mr. Barber purrs, not wasting precious seconds and immediately pressing his clothed erection tight against the curve of his bare ass. _Oh,_ it feels good, feels so fucking good. The way that cock feels, all warm and solid against the middle of his ass, has him spreading his legs, pressing up onto his toes again to _feel._

_“Mr. Barber…_ wanna feel, wanna—”

A sharp hand coming down on his ass cheek has his words dying in his throat. Mr. Barber does it once, twice more, grabs at two palmfuls of his ass, and _squeezes_ roughly.

“Wanna feel what? Wanna feel _me_?” the older man inquires in a gruff voice and all he can do is nod his head dumbly into the countertop with a whine. Mr. Barber doesn’t give him a chance to answer verbally though, instead exhales heavily himself before a hand leaves his ass for just a moment before—

“That what you wanted? What you fuckin’ missed?”

He thought backing himself and his ass into a cock inside of sweatpants was erotic. He hadn’t yet felt the hot skin of Mr. Barber’s cock _smack_ down onto the top of his ass though. Nothing is better than skin on skin and it makes his own heavy dick twitch where it hangs between his spread legs. Mr. Barber keeps one hand on his waist, _tight,_ the other he uses to slap his cock down onto his ass a few lewd times.

“This what you fuckin’ missed, boy?” Mr. Barber hisses, losing some self-control and guiding the head of his dick between his ass cheeks, pushing it right against his hole. It’s right where he wants Mr. Barber. Energy shifts, franticness takes over. There are the fingers of one hand taut in his hair then, _tugging,_ and with a pained mewl he tips his ass up in response.

_“Yes!_ Yes, sir yes. Fuckin’ missed that… that cock. Missed you!”

“Atta boy, there you go. Show me what we don’t have time for, come on, pretty.”

_Pretty_ makes him shout. _Pretty_ combined with the feeling of Mr. Barber’s fat cock resting against his circling ass makes the fire in his belly burn hotter. If he presses back _just right,_ he can feel Mr. Barber’s balls perfectly, can feel the way they hang hot and push up against the bottom of his ass. He wants them in his mouth.

The more he moves, gyrates, grinds, the more he gets to feel Mr. Barber’s cock on his bottom, his backside. And the more he _feels_ it, the more he grows to want it _inside_ of him. Mr. Barber is behind him purring, making all sorts of rumbly noises in agreement and appreciation, and a moment’s realization of where he is and what he’s doing makes his dick turn achy, makes him _hurt_ for any kind of release.

Everything mounts when Mr. Barber moves, when he leans down over his backside, hand reaching for the decorative container of olive oil in front of them. The pressure of Mr. Barber on his back, draped over his much smaller form, has him gasping. Watching Mr. Barber fumble with the bottle of oil makes his mind go fuzzy.

“Push your thighs together, come on. Tight. _Tighter_. There we go, that’s it.”

He feels like he’s wading through syrup, that heavy, sticky-sweet sensation he had not forgotten about filtering through his head, down his neck. He makes dull connections in his brain. _Yes,_ olive oil is slick and messy. _Yes,_ his thighs pressed together would make the perfect spot for Mr. Barber to fuck into. _No,_ they still don’t have enough time to properly fuck before Jacob comes back from the store and they have to pretend that _this_ wasn’t happening.

Teeth are the first thing to drag him out of his embarrassingly prematurely fucked-out brain. A dig of them into the nape of his neck, a hand pressing between his legs, Mr. Barber chuckling when his hand comes in contact with his sensitive dick. A burly arm wraps tightly around his waist as the other hand smears oil on the inside of his thighs, wets it up to get _fucked._

He feels taken, feels overwhelmed, _claimed._ He gives Mr. Barber a throaty groan of confirmation as he’s slicked up and prepped to be used. He drags his arms up the counter, gives himself over to the moment entirely. When Mr. Barber presses a sloppy kiss against his cheek and makes space between their bodies to get his hand between them, he whimpers happily.

“Fuck, you _must’a_ missed it. One time and that’s all it took to train this sweet ass, ain’t that right?”

He hadn’t realized he was presenting for Mr. Barber, even given their position.

While the space between them is for Mr. Barber to get a hand on his cock, it isn’t to slip inside of him. But while it isn’t to press inside of him, that doesn’t stop Mr. Barber from indulging himself and nudging the head of his cock against his hole. He almost thinks Mr. Barber is going to do it, is going to press into him without any prep and with this oil only. But with another sigh that turns into a groan, he presses down instead and slips his cock in the slot under his balls, between his thighs.

It’s different, something he isn’t used to, but it’s delicious nonetheless. To have Mr. Barber so close to where he desperately wants him, all pressed and snug up against his own balls, has him breathless damn near immediately. To feel him on almost every side, slick between his thighs, against the line of his own dick, has incoherent noises spilling from his mouth at the same rate.

_“Fuck,_ that’s good, yeah. Keep yourself tight for me. _God,_ you’re sweet.”

He feels like he’s getting fucked. It sounds like he’s getting fucked, slippery and lewd, the hot length of Mr. Barber’s cock sliding tight against his own achy dick. The most overwhelming part though, is the way Mr. Barber takes control of him, commands him and his body. There’s an arm tight around his waist, locking the two of them together, lips and a beard rubbing against his ear. When he goes to moan again, a bitty mewl, Mr. Barber is huskily shushing him.

_“Shh_ practice, boy. Gotta be quiet. You don’t wanna get caught fuckin’ your best friend’s daddy, do you?”

He won’t last. He chokes on his noise, such a desperate one. Mr. Barber reaches forward and clamps a hand down around his mouth as he continues to messily fuck his cock between his thighs. With the hand around his mouth, his noises are muffled. He can’t stop them, doesn’t try to.

“Don’t want anyone knowin’ about how easy you are either, can’t have them knowin’ I’ve got a little slut on my hands.”

His moan is almost drowned out by the sound of Mr. Barber’s hips smacking up against his backside, by his own growl as he bends his knees and digs in tighter to his bent body. The constant stimulation of his balls and the underside of his dick is making him a bit delirious, is making his breaths hectic behind Mr. Barber’s palm. He thinks he might be able to feel his own spit on his chin.

_“Shh, shh_ gotta practice, baby. For… _fuck,_ for later when I crawl into your bed. Gonna fuck you later, gonna fill this fuckin’ ass up, give it what it wants.”

This time his noise is louder than anything else, a sob behind a hand, his own hands coming to grip at the edge of the counter. He moves with the momentum, finds himself fucking back into Mr. Barber’s body with a whine, _wants more._ It makes the older man groan, almost a growl, has him scrambling and pulling the hand away from his mouth and reaching for the bottle of oil once more.

_“Please,_ god please, want it, want—”

A sloppy wet hand on his dick has him gasping, has him lurching in a strong grip. Mr. Barber’s grip is persistent, focused. The arm around his waist doesn’t falter, goes tighter to accommodate for his thrashing. Mr. Barber’s mouth _runs_ as his big hand fucks itself over his dick and he’s left panting, holding back his whimpers, as he listens to Mr. Barber tell him all the things he is going to do to him later that night.

_“Want your mouth on my cock, want you fuckin’ gaggin’ as I get some fingers in that boy cunt. Yeah? Y’like that? Gonna drag this one out, gonna put you face down just like this. You want me to fuck you face-down? Easier for you to stay quiet, better for me to get balls-deep. Think you can come more than once? Huh? Wanna find out?”_

When he comes, he is unable to give Mr. Barber much of a warning. He’s almost certain that his noises give him away, the way his breath hitches and the way he spits out messy words. He shatters under Mr. Barber. There’s no other word to describe how he comes apart. He shakes and shatters and _comes_ as Mr. Barber milks it out of him, tugs on his cock in long pulls.

The older man fucks himself to his own release, adding to the mess between his thighs with a series of guttural groans and a few pumps of his own hands to prolong his pleasure. It almost feels as if a few waves of fiery pleasure in his body are reserved for feeling Mr. Barber’s come land between his thighs, dirtying him up.

He’s a mess. He’s panting and his mind is foggy. Mr. Barber kisses him on the cheek, squeezes at his sides as he sighs. He wants to crumble to the floor and fall asleep there. He’s supposed to be young, spry, but Mr. Barber takes it out of him without even fucking him.

“Gotta get a move-on, kid. Go clean up,” Mr. Barber tells him with a pat on his stomach before a hot set of lips are on his ear. “I’ll dirty you up all over again tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


	9. Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan: Phone Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter include: Phone Sex, Established Relationship, Long Distance Relationship, Dirty Talk, Light Feminization, Mutual Masturbation

“Hello?”

_“Hey… hi.”_

“Hi sweetheart, what’re you… what time is it there? You okay?”

_“Mhmm fine yeah. S’about 11:30 at night.”_

“You’re okay?”

_“Chris, yeah m’fine, I’m… m’more than fine.”_

“Are you now? Why’s that?”

_“Don’t… nothin’, it’s nothin’, just… just maybe have been… drinkin’…”_

“Ohh, s’that it?”

_“Mhmm…”_

“You think I don’t know when you’ve been drinking? You think I don’t know when my baby’s been drinkin’?”

_“Don’t ‘baby’ me. You don’t know a damn thing, Evans.”_

“Ohh, I think I do, _baby_. Listen to that giggle! You can’t even stop it.”

_“Quit! I’m… m’not easy, I’m—”_

“Can read you like a book, what’s it been, huh? Ninety seconds? Ninety seconds and I know for a fact you’re drinkin’ red wine?”

_“Chris, how…! No, no. I will not give you the satisfaction. S’my choice, my drink. Stop laughing!”_

“Don’t… don’t you pout on me, don’t go sad, sweetheart. Would never try and stop you, of course it’s your choice. I know you, is all. Your voice goin’ all low and sweet, slow and quiet.”

_“Mmm…”_

“That’s your red wine voice. What are you, about a bottle deep?”

_“… I’m hanging up.”_

“No, Seb! Baby, don’t be mean. Should be flattered I know you so well.”

_“Hmm, a blessing and a curse.”_

“Not sure you have many examples of that there _curse_ but it’s fine, it’s fine. It’s just…”

_“Just what?”_

“Seb, honey—you know what happens when you drink red wine…”

_“Mmm, I don’t think I do know. Why don’t you tell me, **baby**?”_

“Look at _you_ … okay. I’ll play. Your voice is all hot, it’s right before bed, you’re callin’ me, you’ve been drinking red wine. I know it’s not tequila because, while one of your favorites, it does _not_ get you calm; you turn into a loud happy little thing when you’ve got tequila in your system.”

_“When’d you turn into some sort’a Sherlock Holmes?”_

“Why’d you call me, Sebastian?”

_“I… missed… I missed you is all. Can’t a guy call his boyfriend when he’s missin’ him?”_

“A’course you can, baby. You’re doin’ more than missing me though, aren’t you?”

_“I…”_

“Hmm…?”

_“You…! There have been so many fucking times you’ve called me while drunk on Heineken wanting me to—”_

“Seb, honey… baby, _shh_. That feistiness is the red wine talkin’. You can call me whenever you want for… _whatever_ you need. I just wanna hear you say it, c’mon. We both know what this is, why you’re callin’.”

_“Don’t… I don’t have a reason.”_

“No? You don’t get more than a little hot and bothered when you drink red wine? A bit needy?” 

_“Chris…”_

“C’mon, Seb— you callin’ me ‘cause you’re hard?” 

_“I’m… ngh maybe…”_

“Yeah? C’mon, Sebastian. Tell me.” 

_“Baby don’t… god I hate how that voice makes me just… do things.”_

“What voice?” 

_“Right, like you don’t know. I may have a red wine voice but you… you gotta horny voice, a hot voice.”_

“Do I now? S’it helpin’ you? Is it what you want?” 

_“S’always what I want…”_

“Atta boy, there you go. Let’s try again— why’d you call me, Sebastian?” 

_“M’hard and I… I miss you.”_

“God, love when you call me when you get like this. Miss you too, sweetheart. You in bed?” 

_“Mmm, mhmm yeah. S’a bit empty. Wish you were here to take up space and hog the blanket.”_

“I’d give anything to come be your blanket hog. You naked?” 

_“God… yeah yeah’m… m’naked.”_

“S’my favorite version’a you. So fuckin’ pretty, should never wear clothes.” 

_“Ngh, Chris…”_

_“Ohh_ already, baby? You already there?” 

_“No, not close, not—“_

“No, Seb— not close to coming. You know what else happens when you drink red wine? Know you know…” 

_“I… I can’t really think right now, Chris. I’m busy doing—“_

“You get _sweet._ You love bein’ pretty and sweet for me when you are this far gone, ain’t that right, kitten?”

_“Fucking hell.”_

“Tell me I’m right.” 

_“A’course you’re right, I… I don’know why I get this way, but I do. Maybe it’s you.”_

“There’s no need to pout, sugar. Love you no matter what version’a you I get. It’s just how you are when you get to sippin’ on wine—you get needier.”

_“Mhmm, I do. I miss you.”_

“Miss you too, baby. Know you’d be all up in my neck right now, can practically feel your tongue on my ear. _Fuck,_ can’t wait to get my hands on you. Tell me what you’re doin’, what’dya look like?”

_“Y’know what I look like…”_

“Tell me anyway, pretty.”

_“Oh I’m… m’on my back, flat. Got my hand on my chest, I’m—”_

“You givin’ yourself those soft touches? Yeah?”

_“You’re proud’a yourself for knowin’ that, can hear your smile. Makes me even harder…”_

_“Jesus…_ c’mon don’t distract me, I know what I want and that’s you to tell me what you’re doin’.”

_“I’m… m’so hard.”_

“Don’t need to whisper it, honey—I know. You been touchin’ yourself?”

_“No, I… m’waiting.”_

“Oh, _Sebastian._ What a good boy…”

_“Chris, tell me… tell me what to do, please I’m—”_

“Oh, sugar never have to beg. Sound sweet as fuck doin’ it but don’t have to; y’know I’ll give you anything you want. Wet your finger, get that thumb and another one in your mouth, don’t— _Baby_ , don’t you get carried away. Don’t get distracted the second somethin’ gets in your mouth.”

_“But I—”_

“Put those fingers on your nipple, give it a good swirl, _yeah._ When you pinch, pinch lightly, _light._ Just—there it is, just like that. Know that noise. How’s that feel?”

_“More… want more.”_

“So greedy. Bet you’re leakin’, bet you’re so wet. That pretty dick all wet?”

_“God… could listen to you… yeah yeah it’s wet I’m… m’so wet.”_

“Yeah you are, know you are. Touchin’ those pretty nipples makes you drip, sweetheart. Listen to you…”

_“Want… are you hard?”_

“Am I hard? Sebastian, of course I am, are you fuckin’ kidding me? You call me all needy and touchin’ yourself and you don’t think I’m gonna get hard? Baby, I’m _achin’.”_

_“Wan’it.”_

_“Mmm,_ want what? Huh?”

_“Chris want… fuck, want you, want your… your cock.”_

“Goddamnit… _fuck_ , you ready to put a hand on yourself? S’that what you need?”

_“Please… yeah, please please I—”_

“Go on, baby go on. Get yourself all wet, spread it around. _God,_ listen to you. Feel good?”

_“God mhmm, yeah it… it does it… so fuckin’ good. Tell me what you look like, what… what your hand looks like on yourself.”_

_“Shit,_ how’d you know?”

_“You may know my red wine voice, but I know your fist-fucking voice.”_

“God, I love you.”

_“Mmm… love **you.** Tell me, please…”_

“Fuck, m’so hard, Seb. On the couch, a hand on myself, loose. I’m thinkin’ about how pretty you’d look here between my legs, would fit real well.”

_“Ohh… that’s exactly where I wanna be right now. Wouldn’t even ask you to stop, would just wanna get my mouth on your balls, wanna make it sloppy.”_

“Jesus, I love it when you drink red wine. What else you want? What else you wanna do while you’re down there?”

_“I just… fuck, Chris I just miss you in my mouth. I miss how… how big you feel on my tongue, how you fill my throat right up. Wanna be good for you, wanna choke on it.”_

“God, Sebastian you’re so good, so fuckin’ good. Nothin’ better than your mouth on me, _ngh._ ”

“I… I can think of something else that may be… be better…”

_“Oh my_ , listen to that voice, the way you couldn’t even say it without moanin’. I think I might… s’it what I think it is?”

_“Mmm, maybe…”_

“Don’t tease me, baby. Don’t be coy.”

_“Want…want your mouth on me.”_

_“Fuck,_ you’re hungry for that aren’t you? Yeah? Jerk yourself off a bit faster, Seb, a bit more. There you go, sweetheart. Tell me more about my mouth on you. Are you…?”

_“Mhmm, yeah yeah. Just miss your fuckin’ mouth, ngh. Miss how… miss how you eat me out, y’so good at it, Chris. Don’t even fucking care, don’t hold back, eat my pu— **oh**.”_

_“Mmph,_ Sebastian. You feelin’… _fuck,_ you feelin’ extra sweet?”

_“Chris…”_

“C’mon. M’hard god, baby I’m so hard for you. You wanna hear it? You wanna hear me, wanna hear my hand on my cock?”

_“Oh fuck… don’t…! God, you just spit in your hand, didn’t you? Fuck.”_

“Without your mouth I gotta make do. Listen, Sebastian—listen.”

_“Jesus…!”_

“S’wet, ain’t it? So hard, my hand is so tight, so good. Sounds like…”

_“Oh god yeah, say it.”_

“Sounds like your _pussy.”_

_“Oh… oh please, oh—!”_

“Fuck yeah, y’love it don’t you, princess?”

_“Oh Chris, don’t… don’t do that. Don’t…ngh, ngh. Can I… I want tighter.”_

“Yeah, sweetheart give yourself what you want. You’re close, I can hear it. You don’t want this often; let yourself enjoy it, come on.”

_“Oh, m’close. I’m close, baby please…”_

“God, wish it was that pussy eatin’ me right up instead’a my fist. D’have to spend such a… such a good amount’a time openin’ that pussy up to take me, wouldn’t I, sugar?”

_“Fuck yeah you would, such a fat fuckin’ cock. God, I wan’it, Chris I miss it. Your mouth on my… on my pussy. Your fingers. You know how I like it; make it hurt a bit. Wanna feel you for days.”_

“Jesus Christ, I’m close. M’close, Seb. You close? Talkin’ about your pussy is gonna get me there, talkin’ about taking just… takin’ _hours_ gettin’ you ready is gonna make me come.”

_“Yeah yeah I’m… m’close. Chris…”_

“Yeah, you gonna come thinkin’ about how that pussy feels when it’s bein’ stuffed? When it’s bein’ fucked? _God…”_

_“Know that voice. Tug on your balls, give… give ‘em a good squeeze—”_

“Fuck, Seb _oh—”_

_“I’m gonna come, make me come, Chris please…!”_

“Come, baby come on, _give it to me._ Come with me _oh_ , Seb baby m’comin’, _fuck…!”_

_“Oh…! Oh god, oh…!”_

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sebastian _goddamnit_ nothin’… nothin’ better than hearin’ you come, _fuck_.”

_“Chris… oh, Chris…”_

“Yeah, baby yeah, get it all, make it count, long strokes.”

_“Fuck, yeah yeah, so good, oh.”_

“S’my boy, listen to _that,_ oh. So fuckin’ hot.”

_“S’good, so good, ngh love it, oh…”_

_“Mmm_ yeah, honey love it. God, m’so… _god_ I made such a mess, sweetheart, _oh.”_

_“Love…mmm love when you get the giggles after an orgasm, just… you’re just the best, god I love you.”_

“Love you more. God, I needed that little afternoon delight. How’d you know?”

_“Red wine brain knows everything.”_

“Hmm, that voice, know that voice too. You’re about to crash. Y’get so sleepy after you come.”

_“S’the red wine. Maybe. Hmph. M’messy now too.”_

_“Mmm,_ you should send me a picture’a that.”

_”Christopher, it hasn’t even been five minutes after we’ve come and you wanna go again?”_

“Not… not again! Just… it’s been a while, I don’t know. Gimme a little extra for later.”

_“Anything for you.”_

“Don’t be dramatic, don’t waste what energy you have left. You should head to bed soon. You gonna go clean off?”

_“Mhmm. When do I get to see you next? Next week?”_

“Yeah… yeah next Thursday, sweetheart. God, can’t wait to see you. Wish I could just stay the whole time you’re there.”

_“Would love that. Love **you**.”_

“I love you too, Seb. Wake up. Go get cleaned off. But not before you take a picture of your mess.”

_“A teenager is what you are.”_

“You love it. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Hope you sleep well, baby. Sweet dreams.”

_“M’kay, goodnight. Bye.”_

“Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Kinktober 2020! I hope you were able to enjoy! 💖 [Come talk to me on Tumblr! ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)

**Author's Note:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/howdoyousleep3)


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